I Wish You a Maltese Weekend

When we meet Paul in the New Testament, he is intense.

Before encountering Christ, he seems to be working overtime against the Church. He is arresting Christians, approving of persecution, and traveling all the way to Damascus to find more followers of Jesus.

Then he meets Christ.

And somehow, he becomes even more intense—only now in the opposite direction.

“Five times I received at the hands of the Jews the forty lashes less one. Three times I was beaten with rods. Once I was stoned. Three times I was shipwrecked…”
—2 Corinthians 11:24–25

His life almost seems to move from one crisis to another.

And then we come to Acts 27.

Paul is being transported to Rome as a prisoner when his ship is caught in a violent storm.

For 14 days, they are tossed around at sea.

Eventually, the ship runs aground and is completely destroyed.

Everyone has to swim—or grab pieces of wreckage—and somehow make it to shore.

And then we read:

“Once safely on shore, we found out that the island was called Malta.”
—Acts 28:1

Malta.

A small island in the Mediterranean Sea, south of Sicily.

And something about what happens next has always brought me peace.

The people of Malta welcomed them.

Luke tells us:

“The islanders showed us unusual kindness. They built a fire and welcomed us all because it was raining and cold.” —Acts 28:2

Just picture that scene.

Paul has been through a storm.

He has been shipwrecked.

He has washed up on an island soaking wet and cold.

And there, waiting for him, is kindness.

A fire.

Warmth.

Hospitality.

And then comes this little detail that I absolutely love:

“After three months we put out to sea…” —Acts 28:11

Three months.

Paul stayed on Malta for three months.

Now, the Bible doesn’t tell us that Paul spent those months lying on a Mediterranean beach drinking something with a tiny umbrella in it.

He was still Paul.

He prayed.

He ministered.

He healed.

He served.

But something is different here.

For a moment, he wasn’t running.

He wasn’t being chased out of town.

He wasn’t crossing another mountain.

He wasn’t fighting another storm.

The man who always seemed to be going somewhere suddenly had nowhere else to go.

God had interrupted the journey.

And perhaps the interruption itself was part of God’s provision.

There was a fire.

There was food.

There was shelter.

There were kind people.

There was ministry.

There was provision.

And there were three months before the journey began again.

That’s what I want to leave you with this weekend.

Sometimes God gives us a Malta.

A little space between the storm behind us and the assignment ahead of us.

And some of us aren’t very good at receiving it.

We feel guilty when we’re not producing.

We feel like every moment needs to accomplish something.

We survive one storm and immediately start worrying about the next one.

But God built rest into creation itself.

Before Israel ever received the Sabbath as a commandment, God had already established its pattern in creation:

“And on the seventh day God finished his work that he had done, and he rested…”
—Genesis 2:2

God didn’t rest because He was exhausted.

He rested because rest belongs to the rhythm of creation.

Later, He commanded His people to enter that rhythm too.

There is so much more I want to share with you about the Sabbath sometime—including some beautiful layers and connections I’ve been studying.

But not today.

Because that would defeat the purpose of this email.

Today, I simply want to tell you:

Sit by the fire.

Eat something good.

Spend time with people you love.

Take a walk.

Put the phone down for a little while.

Worship.

Laugh.

Sleep.

Breathe.

Thank God for bringing you through the storms you have already survived.

There will be another ship eventually.

There will be another destination.

There will be more work to do. I promise you, it’s not going anywhere. 😂

Paul eventually left Malta and continued toward Rome. His calling wasn’t over.

But for three months, God gave him an island.

Whatever it is, when God gives you a little space between the storm and the next assignment—

don’t rush off the island.

Receive the kindness.

Receive the warmth.

Receive the rest.

Let your soul catch up with your body.

And let God prepare you for whatever comes next.

My friends, I pray you have a beautiful, peaceful, rejuvenating—